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A Certain Criminal’s Encounter with Justice

I once owned a bottle
Which could fit coins despite its narrow neck.
I stuffed bills as well,
The fruits of good work.
As I wanted to use them for the good of the world,
I labeled them “For Justice” with red brush-turns.
Things were managed well for a time
But then came a time when my brother went vile.
He snatched the bottle because he wanted money
Which he was likely to spend on some more numbing.
Remembering the label on the bottle as well,
I thought it fitting to slam on his head.
More than expected, my brother’s head hit hard,
First by glass cracked, then on concrete flat.
Blood became a pool, his life tiding out,
Drowning the pieces of paper, metal, and glass around.
I couldn’t read the label I painted on anymore
And I didn’t feel that much better at all.
Green joined the pool,
I had been a fool,
And what wrecked me wasn’t an iron fist
But shards of glass that dug into my skin.